#if you saw me posting this earlier no u didn’t

[pierrot-dokki]

One day, in the Slytherin common room…

Who knew that a badly transfigured hair could look so stinkin cute

[fastboatsmojito]

🕸️𖤐 Promptober Day Six - Knife Kink 𖤐🕸️

| a/n; switched around a few days on the schedule because this has been marinating since September and driving me crazy <3

Promptober schedule here!

| cw; 18+ smut btc, please please be safe, this is fiction!!! Knife play obviously, only Halloween-y because of the weather, afab! Gn reader, degradation, Scott being mean and nasty, a little dacryphilia, a splash of hair pulling, size kink if you squint, slapping (once), he talks to you like a bad dog for a second my fault, no mention of condoms - b safe !! Matching each others FREAK

| wc; 1,666 <3

He’s doing it again, pulling the folding knife out of its meticulous place in his pocket and sliding it open in the seat next to you. He never used it unless he had to but you saw it often enough for it to make your head spin, and without fail anytime it was out your eyes were glued to it.

To his fingers gripping the handle with more care than was usual for him, it was hard to look away when that attentive, analytical side of him came out.

This time simply for the invisible-to-anyone-that-isn’t-a-clean-freak string attached to the hem of his shirt, cutting it off quick and clean as you stared, eyes locked on the silver tucked between his fingers.

He looked up at you as you dazed, low voice finally emerging you out of your brain.

“Why do you do that?” He asked simply, watching you blankly as you froze.

“Do what?” You weren’t completely sure what he was asking, blindly hoping that the way his hand slightly twitched around the knife in his grasp wasn’t a sign he could suddenly read your mind and every filthy thought encompassing it.

“Stare at me like that every time I use this.” He’s carefully pointing the blade at you now, eyes following it before landing back on your own. He doesn’t sound mad but he might as well be the way you’re shifting in your seat like he’s scolding you.

“I don’t-“ You shake your head, scrambling to find the words that just won’t come out, he’s being frustratingly direct and it’s only adding to the familiar ache you tend to feel around him.

“Don’t lie. Just answer the question.”

“I just, um-“ Your eyes moved to your hands as you spoke, the eye contact suddenly too intense to handle.

“I think it’s kinda hot- when you use it.” Your words were pressed against each other, coming out just above a whisper as you anxiously tapped your fingers against your thigh.

“Use…” You sighed as he pushed you to say exactly what you meant, your face heating up at his suggestive tone.

“Your knife.” You look up only after you say it, subconsciously pressing your thighs together as he examined your every reaction, pausing even the movement of his jaw to observe your own.

His hand still holding the knife paired with his stern voice and intense stare was quickly turning you into a puddle, and it wasn’t not obvious.

“Right.” He nodded simply, gauging your reaction. Everything seemingly frozen in time resumed, the stationary gum in his mouth back to keeping him focused, his fingers pushing the knife closed before shoving it back into his pocket.

For a second you were scared he thought it was gross, shamefully watching as he opened his car door to get out. Half expecting him to call you a fucking freak, and he usually would, but you figured he was either into it as much as you were or uncharacteristically sparing your feelings to use it against you later.

He sighed at your uncomforted expression and leaned over to unbuckle your seatbelt before getting out and walking over to open your door.

“Come on.” He tilted his head towards the motel rooms just behind him, reassuringly placing a hand on the back of your neck as he guided you into his room.

——

It wasn’t long before you were on the bed under him as he sat on his knees between your open legs, gasping when he flicked the knife open and rested it just under the hem of your underwear.

The quiet pattering of the rain against the windows and the lull of your shared heartbeats kept you just grounded enough to not slip all the way into your head.

Into the steady chill outside that was cut off by the door, and brought back in again through the cool blade lying on your skin. Into the comfort in knowing that you were safe even with the unavoidable threat of something so sharp against something so fragile.

It felt suffocating in the same way your head gets fuzzy when you go just a few seconds too long underwater, an agonizing instinct to pull yourself back up and a louder, sharper, sicker need to see how long you can stay under.

“I won’t hurt you on purpose but you have to be still, okay?” Your eyes were stuck on the smooth silver, humming when his other hand moved to the nape of your neck, pulling your hair just enough to bring your now tear-brimmed eyes back to him.

“I mean it. Don’t need you bleeding out all over the bed, got it?” You nodded until the hand still gripping your hair tightened.

“I got it, I trust you.” You both knew you meant it, you’d be scared if anyone else held your life in their hands like this but this is Scotty - a nickname he’d only ever let leave your mouth - he was always so precise and observant, you knew you had no real reason to be worried.

“I know.” The hand behind your head suddenly soothing, the dull side of the knife slowly dragging down your leg as he leaned in to kiss you. It was soft, sweet, everything you knew he wasn’t about to be and you basked in it, always savoring every second of sweetness he spared before giving you what you really wanted - what you needed.

You whined when he pulled away anyway, desperation falling over you as he took his time, hand behind your head moving down to your hip to keep you still as he moved the tip of the knife to your inner thigh.

You weren’t sure exactly what he was about to do but even in the low lit room you could see the faintest smile on his face. Every move he made felt calculated, like he’d planned every second of it in his head days before.

He gripped your waist tighter before he tipped the knife down so the width of it was just against the wet spot on the fabric between your legs, closely watching the way your mouth fell open at the sudden cold.

The silver gift you got for him - that he swore he wouldn’t wear out of the house - fell out from his black undershirt, glistening against his neck. Your hands moved from the bed either side of you to appreciate the jewelry you knew he’d look good in - he wasn’t always great at talking about how he felt but he knew just well enough how to show it.

He carefully brought the knife away from you and lightly trailed it all the way up your body, over every part of you it could reach, finally drawing over your collarbone before slowly creeping back down again.

You lost count of just how many times he’d done it - you couldn’t possibly be wetter and he couldn’t possibly care less - admiring the soft pleas falling from your mouth, knife-less hand now on the side of your face as his thumb wiped away the tears of frustration pouring out of you.

“Scott, please-“ You begged for what felt like the millionth time, he was clearly enjoying tantalizing you, sighing and pulling back and finally bringing his hands to drag the ruined fabric down and off of you.

You pouted when he closed the knife and set it down on the bed, shaking his head and pointing a finger at you when you moved to sit up.

“Stay.” He said firmly, bed creaking just so as he stood up to free himself from his pants, eyes focused on your own as you waited on him. He could do this for hours and he had, letting you whine and beg and cry for it first. He wouldn’t this time, noticeably impatient as he resumed his previous position over you.

Before you could ask - or more accurately beg, he sat down on the bed, head resting against the headboard before signaling for you to come up with two fingers. He promptly grabbed your hips so you were sitting on his lap before reaching for the closed knife once again.

Your bare cunt was situated on the bulge under you, your hands planted on your thighs. He wrapped the still-closed knife wielding hand around you to lift you up, lazily pulling his dick out with the other. It was irritating how easy it was for him, so casually showing off his strength when you were alone.

He covered himself in the slick dripping out of you, groaning when he swiftly sat you down on him, keeping you motionless over him with a hand at your waist.

He flipped open the knife with his other hand away from you, undeniably feeling you clench around him when he finally brought the cold blade up to your skin again. He had the perfect view in this position, enough control over where his hands were precisely placed to keep you safe even with a knife at your throat.

“I knew you were far from innocent, sweetheart, but this is really fucked up.” You barely heard it over the rain that was rapidly hitting the windows. Ignoring the filthily mocked nickname and filthier implication, you let go of the breath you’d been holding since you confessed your dirty little secret.

His sharp comment finally leaving his mouth and taking with it all of the worry running through you that, even while literally inside of you, he’d think less of you for it.

You were practically just cockwarming at this point, pawing at his chest to try and convince him to fucking move already. You knew he’d be moving your hips for you soon but you complained anyway.

Rolling your eyes and hastily circling your hips at his seeming lack of urgency, earning yourself a cautionarily soft slap on the cheek.

“You’re mean.” You cried, almost throwing your head back in protest before he held the blade under your chin to keep you steady in place.

“Careful. Thought I told you not to move. Be good and stay still for me so I don’t have to explain to everyone that you asked for this, yeah?”

<333

[beastomato]

sketch. trying to figure out how to draw him in a way i like

[awzominator]

Behold!! The Ninja Tribunal in all their fully rendered glory!!

Chikara was the hardest in terms of coloring so her colors are the most identical to the 03 designs. Hisomi on the other hand was the easiest and I will be chasing that high for the rest of my life! Anyway,, Kon is a low emergent bitch while Chikara is a high energy bitch. Jotu causes problems on purpose for everyone. Hisomi….it’s the quiet ones you gotta watch out for…

[habibisagi]

oliver can't be trusted under any circumstances but especially if you leave him alone in your room. the first time you finally let him into your room and tell him to sit there and not snoop around, naturally it's all he thinks about doing. contrary to what you think, though, he actually doesn't need to snoop around. you have one of the pillows you use to get off out on the bed right next to him — it smells like you and looks good enough for an angle he's learned you can cum with when with him. you make it so easy to know you even when you deny. if you ask him (you don’t. he just tells you) the pillow found him

[rylekayner]

More MoBear from the Jets Punk AU… this was not the plan

ft @stickypucky dealing with me having a break down

[lynbels]

JAKE WHEN HES JEALOUS AND HE LEAVES A BUNCH OF MARKS ON YOU PUHLEASEEE 🙏🙏

let me in (20cm deeper) - sjy

pairing: jake x reader

synopsis: He wasn’t supposed to care—but one jealous glance, one reckless FaceTime call mid-thrust, and now he’s fucking you like he needs the whole world to know you’re his. ✉️ 2144wc - tw ‼️ jealousy, possessiveness, oral (f receiving), rough sex, marking, face sitting, name kink, phone sex, humiliation, choking (light), degradation, creampie, overstimulation, praise kink, dom!jake

💌 mark me up and I’ll show up to uni the next day without a doubt 😵 pookie I love ur reqs sm send more 😘

He wasn’t supposed to care. That was the rule—his own rule. The one he made the first night he kissed you with too much tongue and not enough thought, when the two of you stumbled into your bedroom half-laughing, half-buzzed, and fully aware that this couldn’t mean anything. You were friends. Good friends. He liked your company, liked your voice when you read texts aloud with dumb impressions, liked how you made taking vitamins feel like a shared inside joke instead of a self-imposed regimen. But that was all it was supposed to be.

Until it wasn’t.

It started with something stupid—an Instagram story, of all things. Jake had opened his phone during a water break at the gym, wiping sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt when he saw it. A boomerang. You. Smiling. Head tilted toward someone else. A guy. The caption was harmless—he’s so funny lol—but Jake felt his throat tighten.

He made it through the rest of his workout on autopilot, pushing harder than usual, muscles screaming for rest while his thoughts spiraled. You weren’t even doing anything wrong. You weren’t his. He wasn’t yours. But the image played over and over again in his head: you laughing like that at someone else’s jokes, leaning into their shoulder, letting them have the version of you Jake thought was just his for a little while.

And then you texted.

come over later?

i got wine and that ice cream u like 😋

Jake stared at your message for a full five minutes, heart thudding hard against his chest. His first instinct was to say no, to pull back and cool off, to remind himself of his stupid rules about boundaries and keeping things clean. But then he remembered your smile in that photo, how open and easy it looked.

He texted back.

be there in 15

He didn’t take his usual post-gym ginseng shot. Didn’t do his skincare. Didn’t even double-check his weekly checklist of personal goals.

Because suddenly, all Jake could think about was making sure you remembered exactly who you belonged to tonight.

You open the door barefoot and braless, wearing one of those oversized shirts that barely covers your thighs—probably on purpose. Jake knows you. You’re not oblivious. You know exactly what you do to him when you act like this: all casual and sweet and soft, like you’re not the same person who had their head on someone else’s shoulder earlier.

“Hey,” you say like nothing happened, already turning back toward the kitchen. “I opened the red. Wanna pour?”

He follows silently, eyes on the curve of your legs as you walk. There’s music playing—something soft and lazy—and he realizes it’s the kind of song people play on dates. Candlelight flickers on the counter. You always keep it cozy when he comes over, but tonight it feels too intentional. Too romantic.

He wonders if the other guy saw you like this.

Jake doesn’t say much as you hand him a glass of wine. He doesn’t joke around like he usually does. He just leans against the counter, swirling the drink, pretending not to watch the way you sip yours with a slight smirk.

“So,” you start, licking a drop of wine from your lip, “what’s with the face? You look like you benched your personal best and didn’t get praised for it.”

His jaw ticks. “Saw your story.”

Your brows lift. “What, the one with Yena’s party?”

Jake hums, gaze dropping to your bare thighs. “Yeah. That one.”

You lean a little closer, head tilting. “He’s just a friend, Jake. You jealous or something?”

There it is. The spark. The dangerous one.

Jake sets his wine down with a quiet clink. “No,” he lies, voice low and clipped. “Just curious why he’s got you laughing like that. I don’t remember you looking that happy the last time I made you come.”

The air thickens. Your smile falters for half a second, like you weren’t expecting him to be that blunt. Then it returns—slow, calculated. You set your wine down too, stepping between his legs where he leans against the counter.

“You could fix that,” you whisper. “If you want.”

Jake stares at you for a long, long moment. Every disciplined bone in his body screams at him to slow down, to play it cool, to not let you see how tightly he’s wound. But you’re close now. Too close. And your skin smells like warm sugar and sin.

And in this moment, with your mouth inches from his and your thigh brushing his jeans—Jake doesn’t want to be responsible. He just wants you wrecked and shaking, begging for the man you almost forgot was yours.

Jake doesn’t kiss you gently. He crashes into you like a dam finally bursting, months of restraint swept away in one hard press of his mouth. His hands find your waist, then your hips, then the backs of your thighs as he lifts you onto the counter like you weigh nothing. The wine glasses clink behind you, forgotten. Your shirt rides up, and Jake’s lips never leave yours—just grow hungrier, messier, more desperate.

“You drive me insane,” he murmurs against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck, biting harder with each inch. “Walking around like this… smiling like that… for someone else.”

Your breath catches when his teeth graze the base of your neck. “He didn’t even—”

“Don’t care,” Jake growls, already sucking a bruise into the hollow of your throat. “You’re mine when I’m here. You get that?”

You nod, already breathless, already aching. His hands slip beneath your shirt—warm, rough, and intent—and you gasp when he pulls it over your head in one smooth motion. He doesn’t give you time to feel shy. Doesn’t even pause.

Instead, his mouth is everywhere at once—on your collarbone, between your breasts, down your stomach. Each kiss is matched with a mark. Sharp nips that bloom into bruises. His tongue soothes them after, but it’s all part of the same rhythm: claim, soothe, repeat.

“Jake,” you whimper, squirming as he pulls your thighs apart with an easy grip. “You’re being—”

“Thorough,” he finishes, looking up at you from between your legs, eyes dark with jealousy and heat. “You let someone else make you laugh. I’m gonna remind you who makes you scream.”

And then his mouth is on you. Hot, focused, relentless. You grab at his hair, already trembling from how fast he has you unraveling—but he doesn’t stop. His grip tightens on your hips when you try to close your thighs. He growls against you when you arch your back. And when your voice cracks on his name, he moans like he’s starving for the sound.

By the time he pulls away, your thighs are shaking, your breath ragged. His chin glistens and his shirt is wrinkled from how hard you clung to him. And you’re already marked—neck, chest, thighs. Painted in him.

Your legs are still shaking when he stands back up, hands splayed on your thighs, eyes dark and heavy-lidded as they rake over your flushed skin. You expect him to kiss you again, but he doesn’t—not right away. Instead, he just looks at you for a second. Really looks. Like he’s memorizing the sight of you—lips parted, chest rising, already marked all over with proof of him. Then he breathes out hard and reaches down to undo his belt.

The sound of it slipping through the loops is enough to make your stomach flutter.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he mutters, tugging his jeans and boxers down just enough, his cock already hard and leaking. “Not until I’m done.”

You barely have time to nod before he’s pulling you to the edge of the counter, lining himself up between your thighs. One hand grabs your waist—firm, possessive—the other wraps around the back of your neck, keeping your face close to his.

“Look at me,” he whispers, pushing in slow. “Every second of this.”

You cry out, hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging in as he stretches you. You’ve done this before—more than once—but it still knocks the air from your lungs. He’s thick, and he knows it, knows exactly how to make it burn just a little, how to pause halfway in so you feel every inch. Your walls flutter around him, body struggling to take it.

“Too much?” Jake’s voice is low but strained, jaw clenched as he waits. You nod and whimper, biting your lip, and he dips forward to kiss your temple, whispering, “You’ve got it. I’ve got you. You can take it.”

He pushes the rest of the way in and holds himself there, buried deep, letting you cling to him while your body adjusts. When you moan into his neck, hips twitching, Jake groans low in his throat.

“You feel so good like this,” he growls, voice roughened by restraint. “Tight… soft… mine.”

Then he starts to move—slow, deep thrusts that make the counter creak beneath you. His grip stays locked on your waist as he sets a pace that has your head falling back, cries tumbling from your lips with each push. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the kitchen, messy and raw, and Jake just keeps going—driving into you like he’s making a point.

“You don’t need anyone else,” he breathes into your ear. “I give you everything you need, don’t I?”

“Y-Yeah,” you gasp.

“Say it.”

“You do, Jake—fuck—only you.”

That pulls a growl from his chest. His mouth is back on your neck, tongue and teeth working over fresh skin, leaving new bruises over the ones that haven’t faded yet.

And when he comes—deep inside you, buried to the hilt—he doesn’t stop whispering your name like it’s a promise.

You’re already wrecked. Your cheek sticks to the counter, lips swollen from biting down on them, and your thighs shake every time Jake thrusts back into you. He hasn’t let up—not even a little—his cock buried deep, stretching you over and over with a punishing rhythm that’s more about proving something than just pleasure. And it’s working. You’re dripping. Whimpering. Ruined.

Then you feel the shift. Jake leans forward, still fucking into you, and you hear the soft beep of your phone unlocking.

“What are you doing?” you manage to whisper, voice broken, barely hanging on.

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t have to. Because a second later, the FaceTime ring starts, loud and clear, vibrating right on the counter next to your face.

Your eyes snap open. “Jake, no—”

“Too late,” he grits, one hand curling around your hip, the other holding the phone up high enough to show everything. “He wanted your attention, didn’t he? Let’s give it to him.”

The screen flashes—connected.

And there he is. The guy from the night before. Confused, then wide-eyed, horrified.

Jake doesn’t stop thrusting. In fact, he slows down just a little, dragging each movement out, your slickness obscene in the quiet between the heavy sound of skin and your shaky moans.

“She’s a little busy right now,” Jake says, voice low and smug. “Thought you’d want to see what that laugh of hers really sounds like when it’s real.”

The guy stammers. “What the fuck—“

“Say hi, baby,” Jake murmurs, grabbing your jaw and angling your face toward the screen.

You don’t speak, but the moan that spills from your lips as he hits your spot again—that says enough.

Jake tilts the phone lower, angling it to show your trembling legs, the marks he’s left all over your skin, the way your body clings to him with every thrust. “You watching? You get it now?”

You swear you see him end the call out of panic—or maybe disgust. Either way, Jake tosses the phone aside the second the screen goes dark. His hand is back on your hip in a flash, grip brutal now as he fucks into you harder.

“Mine,” he growls. “All fucking mine.”

And this time when you cum, it’s not from his hands or his mouth or even his words.

It’s the thrill of being seen.

You wake up slow, your limbs heavy and sore, skin warm under the covers. The sunlight leaking in through the blinds feels too bright, too real, like it has no business touching a body that still belongs to the night before.

Your throat’s dry, your thighs ache, and every small movement reminds you of exactly where his hands were—how many times he pulled you apart and put you back together. You shift with a soft whimper, the soreness between your legs blooming deeper, and instinctively tug the blanket tighter around your chest.

That’s when you see it.

The marks.

Everywhere.

Faint bruises along your hips, scattered bites on your thighs, faded red fingerprints at your waist. There’s one on your collarbone, dark and angry, shaped like his mouth. And on your inner thigh, dangerously close to somewhere far more sensitive, his name. Sloppily written in deep purple hickeys.

You press your legs together and bite your lip, heart stuttering as the memory floods in—Jake’s voice, low and angry; his pace, rough and punishing; the look on his face when he hung up that FaceTime call like he had won something.

Because he had.

You hear him before you see him—soft footsteps, the clink of something ceramic. And then the door creaks open.

Jake steps in with messy hair, sleepy eyes, and a mug in each hand. He’s wearing only sweats, slung low on his hips, and his chest still has faint scratch marks from your nails. When he sees you awake, he grins—sleepy, soft, like he didn’t completely ruin you just a few hours ago.

“Mornin’,” he says, offering a mug. “You’re gonna need water too. You passed out right after…”

You take the drink without answering, eyes still locked on the hickeys.

He notices.

Jake sets his mug down, comes to sit on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing over your thigh. “Sorry,” he murmurs, sounding not sorry at all. “Got a little carried away.”

You glare at him half-heartedly. “You FaceTimed him.”

His smirk is immediate. “And he answered.”

You groan, covering your face. “Jake.”

“Hey,” he says gently, prying your hands away. His thumb grazes your cheek. “He needed to see it. I needed him to see it.”

You don’t respond. You don’t need to. Because when Jake leans down and kisses the mark on your neck like it’s sacred—when his lips brush over bruised skin like he’s trying to apologize without saying the words—you realize something else:

It’s not just about jealousy.

It’s about you.

You, and how he’s terrified of losing what you are—even if it means making the whole damn world watch him prove it.

wanna read my longer ffs? Check out @shy9-29 || prompt list request

[eyelovveu]

if u saw me post this earlier no you didn’t because I remade it cuz the other version was so sloppy

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

okay so,,i got an ask but instead of saving it i posted it unfinished like a dumbass so i had to delete AUGHHH anon man i hope you’re still sticking around n tysm for the ask :((( if you saw this earlier you’re a hacker bc I deleted that AT LIGHTNING SPEED anyways hope yall enjoy <3

Fem reader (boobs), fluff, katsu n reader in their 20s, katsuki is nyasty and a big baby, nakedness and such, katsuki talks about boobies soo suggestive i think?? just to be safe :3

request : i saw this video on tiktok before and thought it was so cute! it was a girl pranking her boyfriend by telling him to leave the room so she could change and he was just so confused, was wondering if u could do that with bkg 🥹 <33

right now, katsuki bakugo is about 99% convinced that there's a stranger in his house.

that, or you're mad at him.

"what ?" he asks again for what he knows is once too many, because you giggle. he feels your hand press against his chest, keeping him from following you into your bedroom. you're all smiles.

"i said, i'm changing."

“..so ?”

"so," you copy, making your voice gruff and nasally in a way that's making his nose scrunch. "you. wait outside." you dig your finger into his firm chest to accentuate your point, talking slowly like he's a dog. katsuki's eyebrows furrow harder.

clearly, you take him for a joke.

"you know i've already seen you naked before, right?"

you splutter at his bluntness and usually it'd make him smirk to see the effect he has on you. You cross your arms over your chest that you're trying to keep him from seeing for some reason. "yes, i know that, thanks for reminding me."

without missing a beat, he grabs both of your arms and pulls them apart, pulling a gasp from you. he's always had this weird trigger with crossed arms. he pulls you closer to him until you're firm to his chest and leans forward.

"so, there's nothin' you gotta hide from me." his voice his gravelly the lower he speaks, half lidded eyes looking you up and down, you do your best not to look too bothered.

" 'm not hiding anything, promise." you wiggle your hands out of his grip to lift them up in surrender. katsuki grumbles, you smirk "i just don't want you following me everywhere."

he leans back like you'd hit him, like you'd popped him straight on his mouth, eyes wide and mouth agape "what the-so what i can't walk around in my own damn house?!"

"and you always happen to be walking where i'm going ? conveniently ?" you cross your arms again, hobbling a bit away from your boyfriend so he couldn't pull the stunt from a few seconds ago.

katsuki, now that you’re out of reach, copies you and throws his beefy arms over each other. “i dunno if you noticed, but this place isn’t that fuckin’ huge. everywhere leads to the same place.” he squints when you giggle with a roll of your eyes.

“uhuh, that’s why you somehow end up in the bathroom just watching me. it’s all connected.” you sass, and you managed to dodge katsuki’s fingers attempting to wedge themselves into your sides with a squeal. you grip at the door in warning.

“i’m slamming this in your face !” you warn, pulling the door open and back to taunt him. he stares at you for a few more seconds before he scoffs, rolls his eyes, and groans dramatically . his arms flop to accentuate how much your denial irritates him.

“fine. since you fuckin’ hate being with me so bad, don’t even know why yer ass even moved in then..” you giggle at his not so quiet mutterings, grabbing his arm you pull him toward you

“i was joking, big baby, you can come in.”

katsuki blinks at you, eyebrows furrowed. then his head drops and he shakes it, hair tussling around as he sighs loudly. you laugh and when he’s finally past the door, he pinches you.

“fuckin’ dumbass, thought you grew a third tit an’ didn’t want me to see or something.”

you spin around, smacking his arms causing him to cackle meanly at you.

“you’re such a child.” you huff, “i shouldn’t have let you in here.” you mutter, kicking off your pants. katsuki snickers behind you, you can practically sense he’s about to say something stupid.

“aw, ‘m flattered baby. ya want me to see your third tittie ?” katsuki swiftly dodges the sweatpants you’d launched at him, continuing to laugh. goddamn pro hero reflexes.

[aquasoftware]

☆ KOOKIE KOMBAT ★

FT | ★ S.G, S.G, K.N, C.K, T.F, S.R ★

Desc | After you talk shit about the jjk men’s oraI skills, they challenge you to a one-on-one duel. Will they K.O that KOOKIE?! Or was your initial guess about their technique spot on? Insert a coin in the slot to find out!!

CW I Crack/fluff/suggestive, not proofread, reader implied wlw in Geto’s + pre rls. | ML | Other RECENT smaus? ➜ 1, 2, 3, & 4. | Thank u for voting on my poll!! ♡ | A/n: if you saw me accidentally post this earlier no u didn’t.

Divider/Boarder creds | kodaswrld, enchanthings-a, + hyuneskkami.

REBLOGS, COMMENTS, AND LIKES ARE HEAVILY APPRECIATED!! THANK YOU <3

[lvrclerc]

✶ WATCH ME PARTY ON YOU

summary: post-race parties usually don't come with invitations, but this one does. you understand why when you see lando norris, your ex, mixing on a rooftop in monaco.

F1 MASTERLIST | LN4 MASTERLIST

pairing: lando norris x ex!f!reader

wc: 1.5K

cw: alcohol, many many the great gatsby references because party 4 u is just so tgg coded, exes to ???, reader is bisexual because i'm bisexual and i'm the writer, complicated relationship, not proofread.

note: requested here! i decided that writer's block wouldn't get me and that no matter how much i hated it i wouldn't delete a word once it's on the page, enjoy this one sitting madness <3

THE INVITATION HAD come gold-lettered, and your name nowhere to be seen on the expensive, grainy material of the paper. You had laughed in Kika’s face, because no one ever came to post-Grand Prix parties with invitations— you knew someone who knew someone who knew a friend of the person who was invited, and it was proof enough. The brunette shrugged, muttering something about a special occasion as she gently sweeped the bristles of her highlighter brush on your cheekbone.

Monaco is small when you’re someone, which is why every face on the rooftop is familiar. You leave lipstick stains on darkening blush as acknowledgement even if first names escaped you, and welcomed the cool droplets of those who dipped in the pool for celebration against your burning skin. The music throbbed low and intimate: lights were dark purple swirling with the dangerous golden hem of your dress, your body pulled flush against Kika’s. There was something about the way the beat looped, syrupy and sticking to your collarbones in its sweetness, that turned the atmosphere heavy with secrecy.

The tongue of the girl you kissed tasted like vodka and cranberry juice, and the perfume of the man with his hand on your hips smelled of endless car rides from one country to another. They both ended up talking about the earlier Grand Prix, the words getting lost to you in the heat of the first hours of morning. Kika had told you about the winner, which you promptly forgot about— she looked at you with barely contained pity when you answered you no longer tracked the fingerprints staining the trophies.

“The music’s good!” the girl comments. You nod through the lemony haze of your cocktail— it was good. Familiar, even, and your eyes turn to the booth at the very end of the rooftop, where the sky brushes the railing with modest curiosity.

The name Kika had uttered between layers of sounds crashed onto you.

He’s up on a platform, one headphone half-on and his shirt half-opened in a similar fashion, exposing the slick of his tan skin under the Monaco air. His curls are longer, grazing the back of his neck the way you used to. The sickeningly saccharine liqueur that is melancholy sobers you right up: Lando Norris was not supposed to be good at this—the mixing thing he picked up after too many nights post-race with too much adrenaline and too little sleep—but somehow he is. Of course he is.

Lando excelled at everything he set his mind to. Yet, when it came to you, to the quiet maintenance of love  and all the small, thankless instances that came with it, he faltered.

You weren’t built for waiting. Patience was a language you never learned; the world had never asked you to slow down, so you never did. Life moved with you— not the other way around. When Lando didn’t show up the way you needed, you didn’t wait for him to catch up. 

You left before he even had the chance to prove if he ever would. 

The tangled mess of bodies dancing together under harsh brush strokes of lights stills for the half of a second, and memories come flooding back in the dull brown of strangers in train windows. As the beat lags, imperceptibly, and the pads of his fingers you imagine must still feel as rough as his steering wheel hovers over the board, you still knew him well enough to deduce he saw you too.

The crowd is champagne-colored when you go back dancing but your heart is already heavy with a hangover when your feet find the tempo. Lando’s eyes, as he navigates through the music for the night, glides over you like water when you drop in people’s arms, laughing and singing, one after the other. You didn’t enjoy it one bit— not because it was unwanted, but because the knowledge of his presence made you all too aware of the debauchery you’ve been indulging in ever since you left. The outside perception of your humanity was not something you liked to be reminded of.

Tracks after tracks, you dance for Lando to watch, and you can’t remember if it was tears or tongues that wiped the specks of glitters on your cheek.

The party doesn’t end in a cathartic split. It bleeds out, like so many other things.

Bit by bit, the bodies disperse. Laughter thins into whispers, lost to the humidity and the inevitable promise of tomorrow. The last bottles sweat themselves warm on sticky countertops, cadavers-shaped confettis floated in the pool, the shades of light going from enamel to watercolor, and somewhere below, Monaco exhales— restless and bright.

You lost sight of Kika hours ago, you realize as your bare feet plunged into the water. You find yourself alone again. Not in the literal sense— there are still a few limbs flung on velvet couches, a couple kissing like the night will never end. You wished it did, so you wouldn’t have to find yourself in your own company.

Behind you, the music switches to something treacly, ripping open parcels of your heart without much thought about the consequences on the feeble hold you had on it. The melody trickles down your spine. The first lyrics escape your lips like a well-oiled, forgotten jukebox.

You don’t look to see whose feet dips in the water next to yours. “That’s a nice song choice,” you comment instead, eyes locked on the dark water below. The melody spills like honey into the quiet. You remember swaying to it in the kitchen light, tucked comfortably in the warmth of his arm, the rare times he allowed you to settle between the shards of his self-doubt. He held you at the base of your spine like it was the only place he could linger without trembling.

The notes had never felt more intimate as they do now.

“Thought you might like it,” Lando answers, and the only bite behind it is the unforgivingness of the cool evening air on your bare shoulders.

The silence stretches for a minute longer than it should, dense. The last stragglers had stumbled awkwardly to the exit before the Brit spoke up again, the melody of the song echoing between each syllable. “I play it at the end of each after party,” he says, barely above a whisper, shifting. “In case you’d drop by.”

“You sent the invite.” It’s not a question.

Lando nod. “Kika told me you’d be in Monaco.” He breathes in, sitting a little straighter next to you. “I just… I wanted to know if that's what it would take.”

“You could have just asked.”

“I didn’t think you’d come if I did,” he says. It’s almost sheepish, as if he was the one declining your own party. He put you on a pedestal deserving of a marble idol— you were just another woman with neons in her bones, with the necessity to crack a little in order to shine. Nothing like who he pictured when he kissed you.

Which is why you replied, “Me neither.” Then, after a beat. “But I’m here, so now what?”

That undoes him a little, you can hear it in the hand he runs in his hair.

Lando draws a breath, pursuing something that already slipped past the fragile skin of his lips. “We could try again,” he offers, voice brittle with something desperate. “We could go back to what we were before, you and me. Before it all fell apart.”

You let yourself savor the possibility— but that’s what it was: a suggestion. You could play pretend at being a different person than you were back then, and Lando could too, but the truth was that you were still the same people who couldn’t push the thorny edges of their own minds to love each other properly. The city below sparkles, but the rooftop is dim, quiet.

“We can’t repeat the past, Lando.”

He turns to you fully then. You can finally catch the dark rim lining his lower lashes, and the flicker of something wide-eyed in his gaze. The want inside of them blurred into a child-like naiveness, which you could only compare to a boy staring through a looking glass and hoping to find the answers he seeked. “Why not?” he asks. “It was good, wasn’t it? While it lasted?”

The last rooftop light flickers behind you. Once, twice, and dies. A final green blink before you’re swallowed in darkness. The music stopped a few minutes ago, the only familiar rhythm now the aching pace of Lando’s breathing.

You don’t answer. You choose to kiss him instead, and it grounds you. His mouth is familiar, yet salted with nostalgia and softened by regret. His tongue slips in your mouth to swallow your secrets, his fingers wipe the black stains running down your cheeks following the map he traced so long ago. You finally feel real again.

The rooftop stays dark and the city spins on. Here, in the quiet wreckage of a night that once belonged to the both of you, you kiss him as acknowledgement that the past did happen. As a testimony that, in this moment, it was still yours to hold.

©LVRCLERC 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

[mooooonnnzz]

I saw your earlier post on Platonic fics and Im a sucker for them so here u go : father figure stanford headcannons maybe takes place after he comes back from the portal, reader is an adventurous spirit that works at the shack and maybe secretly helped stan get his brother back? Idk im just throwing things here lol

You Know I Love You Still

Stanford x daughter!reader

💗 stanford dad hc!!

💗 i literally saw the request it and started writing and got a lil carried away 😭 its like half story half hc? if that makes sense

💗 requests r so open rn! i def dont have any fav requests… (anything platonic or familial will be the first ones i write i LOVE those types of requests)

💗 the age of the reader is young like 16/17? ik that lowkey contradicts with the time line but wtv STANFORD DAD HC!!

💗 it’s a little bit of everything? like it’s not only just reader and stanford, the twins r also included in some scenarios and also stan

💗 a big happy family 😭

💗 fem reader gulp i completely didnt realize until i was done that i used she/her when referring to the reader

💗 next fic will use gender neutral pronouns I SWUEAR!!

💗2k words

💗 i apologize for rhe misspell and mistakes i didnt catch in advance

Working together with your Uncle Stan to build the portal to bring your dad back to the right dimension was tiresome. Nights were sleepless and many of them were spent in the underground lab, where you and Stan did everything possible to assemble the portal. Trying to keep such a secret away from the twins and Soos was unexpectedly hard. The knowledge of hiding someone so vital to you and to your Uncle Stan was weighing down on you and him. Then came the day where his awaited arrival was promised. You could barely sleep that night. You thought of so many different possibilities and scenarios of how you would greet him. Would he remember you? Did he ever miss you? Does he even love you?!

The next day came in like a tornado and before you knew it, you were protectively standing in front of the button; trying your absolute hardest to prevent the twins from pressing the button.

“Why do you guys want to stop the portal so badly!” You yelled over the loud swirling wind that emitted from the portal. “Because it’s dangerous!” Dipper retorted, using his arm to shield him from the debris whizzing past him. “G-Grunkle Stan isn’t who he says he is!” Dipper said, stepping closer to you.

“Whatever you guys saw or heard isn’t what you think it is! Please, you need to believe me.” You begged, your eyes brimming with tears. You’ve worked so hard to get this portal up and running and you weren’t going to let Dipper or anyone stop you from being able to see your dad.

Soos came up from behind and wrapped his arms around you. “I’m sorry, dude.” He picked you up and took you away from the button. “Soos, no!” You thrashed around his hold. You pound your fists against his arms, hoping it’ll loosen his grip on you but nothing you did worked. No matter how much you begged and fought against him, he didn’t budge. He just held you closer to him, muttering ‘I’m Sorry’ under his breath.

“This all stops now!” Dipper raised his hand, palm flattened out, ready to push the button when Stan appeared at the doorway. “Don’t touch that button!”

He’s hunched forward, hand leaning on the frame of the doorway as he pants. Relief washes over you upon seeing Stan. Silence fills the room for a minute and all you can hear is your heart hammer against your ribcage. Stan walks towards Dipper, beckoning him to not press the button.

“If you just let me explain—“ He’s cut off by his watch repeatedly beeping. Suddenly the ground begins to shake.

The portal powers up and the circle enlarges. The electricity spazzes and travels throughout the room, creating streaks of electrical power. Your feet lift off the ground and soon everyone’s floating up in the air. The wind is fierce and it’s whipping through every direction, pushing you towards the wall.

Dipper yells at Mable to turn off the portal before it causes anymore damage. She tugs herself closer to the button using a stray cable and while she wraps herself around the neck holding up the button, Stan is begging her to listen to him and to not press the button. He’s soon tackled by Soos who pushes him away from Mable. They all fight with each other and you’re watching with a bated breath.

The portal pulses with power, sending you back first into the wall. Stan and Dipper bicker back and forth and Mable is torn with the decision of either believing her brother or her Grunkle. She lowers her hand, eyes closed and you're almost convinced she’s going to press the button when she lets go of the button. She floats up with her arms raised. “Grunkle Stan, I believe you.” She says.

“Mable, are you crazy?! We’re all gonna—!”

The world flashes white and you're immediately knocked out. You awaken to yourself plummeting face first down to the floor. You groan, pushing yourself up with one hand and the other wiping off the dust on your face. Looking around you can see your family scattered around the room, each of them slowly waking up from whatever happened and stumbling back to their feet.

Your head quickly whips towards the portal and your heart lurches into your throat upon seeing a figure step out of it. He stands still, staring straight ahead as he takes off his hood and goggles. And what hid behind them was your father.

After the initial shock of meeting the one behind the three books and the reveal of him being related to Stan was pushed aside, you presented yourself with the help of Stan. “H-Hi, Dad.” You awkwardly greet yourself.

His eyes stop on you and he freezes, eyes blown wide and mouth slightly ajar. He takes a minute to process the absurdity of the situation before he’s snapping back to consciousness. He blinks once, his mouth stuttering as he finds the right words to say. He then blinks again, stepping a cautious step towards you. Your name softly spills out of his mouth and your heart soars hearing your Dad finally utter your name again.

You take a step forward and then another and another until you’re face to face with him. Being closer to him allowed you to see how much he has aged since the last time you saw him. “Dad…” You whisper, throwing yourself into him.

A light wheeze escapes his mouth from the sudden impact of your body crashing on him. Once he recovers, his arms are quickly wrapped around you, hugging you with so much warmth and love you almost sobbed right then and there.

He snuggled his face against your hair, breathing in your familiar scent he missed so dearly while he was away. “We have so much to catch up on.” You say so quietly that he almost lost your words if it wasn’t for you being directly near his ear. He hums in affirmation, cherishing the long awaited reunion with his daughter.

“I feel like this is another part where one of us faints again.” Mable says in utter disbelief at the scene that unfolded in front of her. “Ohoh!” Soos laughed out. “I’m so on it, dudes.” As if on command his eyes roll to the back of his head and he faints flat on his back.

HEADCANON TIME!!

• You weren’t really expecting to talk to him much due to Stan wanting to talk to his brother, but after their fight, he came looking for you. When he found you, you were sitting on the couch that was outside on the porch. You were reading a book you recently purchased from the bookstore. Nose deep in your book, you failed to realize Ford standing beside you. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his trench coat. Quietly he asked, “Is there room for one more?”

• The night was spent with the two of you getting to know each other. From your favorite color to your favorite show, what food you like to eat and so on. Ford wanted to fully understand and know you as a person. He wanted to make up all the years he lost with you.

• The next day, you awoke to the smell of your favorite breakfast food being cooked. With haste you pushed your blanket off of you and slipped on your slippers and sped off into the kitchen where Ford was buttering the pan. He looked over to you and flashed you a smile. “I made you your favorite.” He said, motioning over to the table where he laid out your breakfast. “You didn’t have to do this.” You scratched your cheek, a small laugh of surprise leaving you. “I’m just doing what I always dreamed of doing.” He shoveled out his breakfast onto his plate using a spatula. “How’s the food, kiddo?” He asks, placing the pan and spatula on the dirty side of the sink. “Actually pretty good for someone who hasn't been in this dimension for over a decade!” You jest, taking another delicious bite from your breakfast. Ford jokingly rolled his eyes, ruffling your hair as he walked past you and sat down on his chair. “Already poking fun at me.” He said, shaking his head.

• Stanford knew he had to focus on his projects, he had so many things he left unfinished that he'd been dying to get his hands on the minute he stepped foot into his dimension. But he couldn’t seem to pull himself away from you. He loved seeing you interact with the twins, he loved watching how pieces of his personality shone through you. Like the way you’re so meticulous with where you put things, or how you were forever curious about the things around you, and even the abundance of questions you’d mutter to yourself as you discovered something new. That’s all of him right there, in front of him and he couldn’t grasp such a thought that you were his!

• He finds himself gazing upon baby photos Stan took of you when you were younger. Even if he’s angry at his twin currently, he’s forever grateful that he documented such beautiful memories in a scrapbook. “Y’know, I used to tell stories about you to her.” A shriek leaves Ford. He jumps forward, the scrapbook tumbling down his lap and onto the floor. “You idiot! Be careful.” Stan sneered, kneeling down to the floor to pick up the scrapbook. “Stanley!” Ford leans his head back, trying to regain his composure. “You scared me!” He says. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” Stan waves him off, grabbing the scrapbook and tucking it in between his arms. They stand in awkward silence, eyes darting around the place uneasily. “Did…” Ford starts, shattering the silence. “Did she like the stories you told of me?” Stan smiles fondly, nodding his head. “She loved them. She thought you were some stupid amazing superhero, no matter what I told her.” Ford furrowed his brows. “Wait, what do you mean by no matter what you told her?” Stan nervously laughed. “Hey, why don’t you keep looking at these photos! Wait here, look at this one. Haha! She’s trying to eat her toes, isn’t that adorable?” “Stanley.”

• Outings between the two of you were very common. He loved being tugged around the town of Gravity Falls by you as you pointed at various different shops and locations. You told him the reasons why you hated them or loved them, and some were tied to stories that happened within the summer. He seriously questioned how you and the twins survived so many times where you were just so close to death. The mall was a place where you and him resided the most. With the money he took from Stan, he paid for almost everything you wanted. Entering the shack with so many bags was a shock to everyone. “Woah! Did you buy the whole mall?” Mable jokes, grabbing one of the bags to help you with the load. “Basically,” you laughed, instructing Mable to rally Soos and Dipper to have a little haul of what you bought. Stan watched with a raised brow as you stumbled into the living room with Mable following closely behind. “Where did you get all the money to buy her all of that?” Stan asks. “Just stole some money from some hobo.” Ford said, walking into the living room to join in on the haul. Stan didn’t understand what he said and opened the cash register. When he saw all the money he had stored the day before gone, it all clicked.

• Adventures out in the woods is a must. Gathering the twins and your dad, all four of you venture out into the woods in hopes to find something new. “Why couldn’t Grunkle Stan tag along with us?” Mable asked as she kneeled down to pluck a flower from the dirt. “Because he’s being a wet towel.” Dipper muttered, scribbling down a rough drawing of the flower Mable was picking in a book you bought him. “So what kind of anomalies you three stumbled upon?” Ford questioned. You and the twins began to dump everything onto him, from when you started seeing them to when Dipper and Mable came. Ford couldn’t truly focus on what they were saying, mostly because it was a jumbled excited mess of words, but partially because he was astonished with the trio in front of him. They went through so much and yet they’re still so headstrong. He could definitely see a little bit of him in Dipper and Mable.

• Stan would find you and Ford fallen asleep on the couch or in his lab, all huddled up together and completely knocked out. Snores filled the room and he found it amusing that you and him both snores the same. Videos and photos were definitely taken by Mable.

• Ford would tell stories of his adventures in another dimension to you. Stemming from how he started from the ground up to him getting banned from many other dimensions for stealing parts. “You’re not so different from Uncle Stan,” You laughed, shaking your head. “What! It was only a few…hundred dimensions.”

• There’s times where you’d wake up in a cold sweat, afraid that your Dad finally coming back was just a painful dream your brain played on you. But when you would get ready to find him, you’d step on his stomach or back. “Ough!” Ford groaned out in pain. Being suddenly woken up from his sleep, he sat up, looking around confused. “What are you doing sleeping on the floor?” You sat back down on your bed, pulling the blankets over you. “Is there a problem with me sleeping on the floor?” Ford asks, looking at you with squinted eyes. “No, no.” You laid back down on your bed. “Go back to sleep. I’m better now,” You say, somewhat amused with Ford sleeping on the floor beside your bed. “Goodnight, I love you.” You brush your fingers playfully across his face to annoy him. He shoves your fingers away from his face, huffing out. “Goodnight,” He shuffles to his side, looking up to you with a small smile. “I love you more, kiddo.”

[sturnsblogs]

FRIENDS DONT DO THAT

Fratboy!Chris X Toxic!fwb!reader

—

Being friends with Chris is… weird.

Weird because he still knows the passcode to your apartment, and uses it without hesitation.

Weird because he still wears your hair tie on his wrist sometimes and pretends like he doesn’t notice.

Weird because when you’re walking next to him, he still moves to the outside of the sidewalk like it’s instinct.

Weird because sometimes you catch him staring. Like he forgot for a second that you’re just friends now.

He doesn’t say much when it happens, just looks away and clears his throat or starts talking about something random—like the weather or how his lighter keeps acting up.

But you see it.

It’s in the way he still brings you coffee the way you like it. In the way he still opens the car door for you without even thinking.

And it’s in the way he slips sometimes.

Like earlier this week—he called you “baby.”

Not in a teasing way. Not in a joking way.

It was soft. Automatic.

You froze.

He didn’t even realize it until after.

“Shit. I mean—Y/N. My bad.”

You didn’t say anything. Just gave a tight smile and looked out the window.

Then there was that time you wore his hoodie again—not on purpose, you just threw it on because it smelled like him and you were cold—and he didn’t say a word the entire night. Just stared at you like he was trying to remember how to breathe.

Or when you went to a party, and some guy was clearly flirting with you, hand dangerously close to your waist.

Chris didn’t say anything, didn’t make a scene.

But later that night, he texted you:

“Didn’t know we were bringing randoms into our spot.”

And then followed it up with:

“Whatever. Have fun.”

Or like that night two weeks ago when he texted you:

“Come over? Miss you.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

You stared at the screen too long, thumb hovering, not sure what to do with it—

And then, two minutes later, he followed up with:

“Nvm. Wrong person. mb.”

Wrong person?

Chris didn’t even talk to other girls. Not like that.

But you didn’t ask. You just left him on read and curled tighter into your blanket, pretending it didn’t ruin your night.

Or that time you actually went on a date—a real one. With someone sweet. Normal. He picked you up on time, complimented your dress, made you laugh. You even posted a picture of your dessert on your story.

An hour later, Chris was blowing up your phone:

Chris: “Dude’s a player. Just letting you know.”

Chris: “Saw him at a party last weekend. He was all over some girl.”

Chris: “Do whatever u want tho. Not my business.”

You didn’t even respond. Because you knew what it was—jealousy disguised as “looking out.”

And he always does that.

Like when he said he couldn’t hang out that one night, but then you saw him repost your pic from two years ago on his private story. Just a blurry one of you in his hoodie, the caption:

“LMAO remember this?”

No one else would’ve known it was you.

But you did.

You knew that was his way of saying he missed you.

Or when he picked you up from that party when you were tipsy and giggling in the passenger seat, and you accidentally leaned into his side. His arm instinctively wrapped around you.

You whispered, “You smell the same.”

He whispered, “You don’t.”

It was quiet after that.

He still calls you “princess” sometimes, too.

And then immediately follows it with,

“I mean—dude. Whatever your name is now.”

But it’s always in that same voice. The one that sounds like home.

And the worst part?

You let it slide.

Because some part of you—no matter how small—still wants to be his.

So yeah… being friends with Chris is weird.

Because every now and then, it still feels like you’re his.

And every now and then, it still feels like he’s yours.

But neither of you are saying it.

Because friends don’t say that kind of shit. Right?

—

A/N- i wanted to write chris being a sub but @sunrisemill told me to drag it

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho @emely9274 @cherryystemm @realuvrrr @zenithsturniolo @kier-with-a-k @eeyoresturnz @elizasturn @ribread03 @sturnslux3 @costalgirlyr @pizzapocketpocketpizza @arianna1342 @mattsplaything @ed1tssturnn @ivysturnss

[1yr4sp10d3]

Hey! I saw you post for requests and I shall respond. I have no idea if you do Cecil x reader but I’ll leave this here for you to decide. Can I request dabbles or hc’s of Cecil x wife!reader who’s shy as heck and some domestic yet romantic things he does with her, please? Some examples would be slow dancing or some soft affection/intimacy(swf) and anything else you can think of!

grr grrr i need to eat this old man bro u don’t understand 😈

I’ve seen a lot of things saying he’s southern but just lost his accent working for the GDA and I totally agree (he kinda reminds me of phillip graves if that makes sense)

So he’d totally have like southern vibes

Fixing stuff around the house when he’s home, cooking and stuff

Dare I say he barbecues??

I think he’d prefer quiet dates at home since his life is so hectic most of the time

candle light dinner dates where he cooks for you both

Continuing with the southern thing, i feel like he’d make recipes from his childhood, roasts and different chilis and pot pies and LOTS of potatoes (baked, fried, scalloped, mashed, all the kinds of potatoes)

Slow dancing in the candle light after diner 😣🤭🤭

I feel like he’d have a nice house in the countryside to come home to after a long day, coming home to you.

It’d be a very domestic thing, i feel like he’d like the simplicity of it with his work life and all that

I don’t think many people would know about you except maybe donald

and that’s a maybe

he’d want to keep you a secret, not only to keep you safe from all the stuff he deals with at work but also because you’re his

not in a controlling way, but like you’re his, not anyone else’s, and he wants to shield you from the things he deals with on a day to day basis

you wouldn’t work, and it’s not like you’d need to with the money he brings in

not that you mind it. staying at home is nice. It’s simple, and it’s a constant. for both of you

even with all the crazy shit he deals with at work, he knows he’ll always come home to you

He doesn’t want you to deal with all the stuff that has to do with his job, like i already said

He wouldn’t want you to be in danger, and he knows you’d prefer it like that anyway. would prefer to be away from all that chaos and have the only thing you worry about during the day be if you have enough flour to make the sweet bread you wanted

wouldnt want you to be hurt at all. the most pain he’d ever want you to go through is a playful bite on the collarbone that makes you giggle and blush, pushing your face into his shoulder.

he’d be pretty protective, but not in a controlling way, like i said earlier

Sure, he likes it simple like that, but if you didn’t like it like that, he wouldn’t force you to. whatever you want, you get.

a/n: I hope this made sense 😭😭 i was just kinda yapping. ig that’s what hcs usually are, though. if you submitted a request, i promise im working on getting them done, but ive got like 21 just in my asks and like another 15 in my replies, and thats gonna take a while to finish 🙏🙏 but ill try my hardest. not complaining tho, i appreciate the asks bc i literally wouldn’t know what to write without them

[stvrrlau]

𝙨𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙢.

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨.ᐟ sweet!soft!heeseung⋆anxious!fem!reader

𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦.ᐟ fluff fluff fluff, very fluffy hehe

𝘴𝘵𝘷𝘳𝘳𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴.ᐟ hello guys (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ this is my first ever time on tumblr!!!! so still trying to figure things out lolololol if u enjoy this pls check out my wattpad i would love 2 reach 1k reads!!! >< i also have an ao3 acc where i may post some drabbles or any scraps i dont wanna post here ( ๑ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و ♡ wrd count۶ৎ 1 640

YN

i sighed, looking through the window, the scenery blazing past at high speeds, enough to make someone sick. the weather wasn’t warm but it wasn’t cool either, the type of weather you would expect on an early morning in april.

i looked back down at the book i was holding, the words beginning to blur together after staring at it for an hour. the train taking a lot longer than i expected and the eerie quiet didn’t help soothe my nerves.

jake said the train would only take an hour and twenty minutes.

i quickly shoved my book back into my bag and clutched it, biting my lip. staring out the window didn’t help calm my nerves as it only served as a reminder that i may have gotten on the wrong train.

i should’ve asked someone. i should’ve double-checked. i should’ve—

breathe.

my heart beat a little too fast for how quiet everything was. the faint hum of the train tracks rattling echoed through the almost empty compartment—like it could lull someone to sleep.

i stared down at the ground wishing none of this was real. maybe i’m imagining all of it. maybe if i shut my eyes and think hard enough i’ll wake up in my bed, surrounded by warm sheets.

so i did.

i shut my eyes and wished none of this was real. i wished and wished and wished before opening my eyes.

sadly, i was still where i was before, two minutes earlier. but as i continued to burn holes in the ground, i noticed another pair of shoes next to me.

immediately, i sat up and felt my face burn from pure embarrassment. i wondered how long he could've been sat there, probably long enough to notice i was a weird girl who happened to like floors a bit too much.

i snuck a glance at the person beside me and immediately regretted not taking a longer glance.

he was gorgeous.

the sun shone through the window, casting a soft glow over his delicate features. his long lashes caught the sun just like my breath that was caught in my throat. his nose was as if he was carved by a greek god, his skin a milky white, his cheeks tinted a rosy red, as if he had run the last two blocks to reach the train station, his lips were smooth and the perfect shade of pink.

he looked just like a warm summer’s evening; peaceful, poetic, perfect.

“are you alright?”

i nearly jumped out of my seat when he spoke. he was speaking. speaking to me! what did i do to deserve this moment?

i cleared my throat awkwardly before speaking, “i’m fine, just a little worried..” i answered with a small smile, hoping he didn’t find me weird enough to get off at the next stop and report me for—for something.

at this, the stranger smiled.

i wish i could have taken a picture because in that moment, i could’ve sworn i saw an angel.

“really? why are you worried? is it something i can help with?” he asked, his tone soft and considerate, like he actually wanted to help.

“ah—it’s sort of stupid really.” i said bashfully, but when the stranger didn’t interrupt or turn away i took it as a sign to continue, “i’ve been on this train for an hour and my friend told me it should only take an hour and twenty minutes but his city name still hasn’t come up and i’m really worried i got on the wrong train and i’ve been heading the wrong way for an hour and then i’ll disappoint him or—”

i quickly stopped myself and took a deep breath, feeling my face heat up from embarrassment again.

calm down before scare away this beautiful and sweet stranger.

“s-sorry about that. i’m just worried.”

the stranger smiled again, but this time his smile was warmer. more thoughtful. like he cared.

“don’t panic, i’m sure that even if you were going the wrong way, which i’m sure you’re not, your friend still wouldn’t be mad at you. where are you going, maybe i can help.” he reassured me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

his touch instantly calmed me down and i felt as if i was about to pass away. god, why was i such a loser?

“szentes.”

at my answer his eyes lit up.

“me too! see? i knew you weren’t going the wrong way.” he smiled, “the only explanation i can think of for your friend giving you the wrong time is that he checked the wrong station.”

“ah.” i nodded.

now i sounded even stupider. i should’ve known jake can’t do directions for shit.

“he must’ve calculated it from my station.” he said, more to himself, to confirm his suggestion, “but at least we now know you aren’t going the wrong way. we’re both going the same way.” he grinned.

“i guess we are.” i smiled.

inside, i was exploding. no way we were both headed to the same city! what are the chances? maybe i have a chance to get to know him..

i looked down, hoping something would come into my brain to spark a conversation when i noticed the flowers in his hands.

wait. flowers. fuck.

they were probably for his girlfriend. i mean—no way this guy is single.

“so i see you have flowers—are they for your girlfriend?” i asked, my tone friendly, though deep down i was praying, hoping, wishing he didn’t.

then again the chances of a person like him being single is like finding a needle in a haystack.

when i asked him that question, his eyes went wide, like i was really asking if he had a girlfriend.

he stared at me for a moment, wide eyed, before laughing.

“not for my girlfriend that doesn’t exist, no.” he grinned, “they’re for my mother. celebrating.”

when those words fell from his mouth i nearly let out a sigh of relief. he doesn’t have a girlfriend! do i actually have a chance?

“and you?”

i looked up at the stranger again, just to be met with those warm brown eyes that looked like honey.

“hm?”

“do you have a boyfriend? is the friend you’re visiting actually a friend or your secret boyfriend?” he teased, his tone playful. but something else in his tone caught my attention. was he—jealous?

nah. no way. no way a person like him would be interested in a person like me.

“ew, no way! that would be like dating my brother. a really annoying one.” i said, disgusted at the thought of dating jake.

he laughed. so did i. it was silent.

but it wasn’t the type of silence you felt you could suffocate in—no. it was a comfortable silence. a silence i didn’t mind having.

so as the silence continued, i turned my attention to the window, now a sweet reminder that if the stranger hadn’t gotten on this train, and sat next to me, i would still be in a panicked state. i should thank the stranger.

wait. i still keep referring to him as “stranger”. i should ask for his name.

just as i was about to turn around and ask for his name, i felt something rest on my shoulder.

no.

someone.

i turned my head ever so slightly, just to be met with the prettiest sight before me.

the stranger, whose name i still did not know, was now resting his head on my shoulder, fast asleep.

it would be rude to wake him, but then again, i don’t know if my heart would be able to take it.

the weight on my shoulder was comforting, like having a cat fall asleep in your lap after a tiring day, or the heavy weight of a good book in your hands.

all i could do was appreciate the sight before me.

his calm and soft breathing that tickled my arm, the way his chest rose and fell when he took a deep breath, the way his hands still held onto the flowers, not wanting to drop a single one, the way he smelt of lavender.

even just looking at him made me relax.

i wonder—

it wouldn’t hurt to just—

cautiously, i tilted my head, slowly, before eventually resting my head on top of his. when i sensed that he hadn’t woken up, i shut my eyes, and let out a contented sigh of relief.

i’ll ask for his name when i wake up..

———

“miss! miss! please wake up!”

almost as soon as i had closed my eyes, i was opening them again, but this time i wasn’t met with those same warm, honey eyes. no. this time i was met with a pair of worried eyes that belonged to a ticket-checker.

“miss, this is the final stop before the train heads back, please let me escort you out.” he said in a monotone, though his expression was one of kindness and sincerity.

“oh—yes of course, i’m sorry for the bother.” i quickly said, suddenly realising i may have made his job harder than it already was.

“not at all.”

i was about to turn to the stranger beside me, in hopes of wondering where he was going but, much to my disappointment, he was gone.

i never got his name..

before i had time to mourn my little crush, something brightly coloured caught my eye.

there in my lap, was a rose. the same rose that was in the bouquet the stranger was taking to his mother.

and there attached to it was a note.

carefully, i detached the note from the rose and read it.

“+82xx xxxxxx — let’s meet again pretty. from heeseung.”

a smile crept onto my face as i re-read the note over and over.

his name was heeseung.

[formulaonecrumbs]

Would you be okay with a lando x male!reader where they meet at a kids’ karting event, where lando was invited for a special appearance or something like that? The little girl who wins the race gets to take a picture with him and get his autograph, and that’s how Lando meets the reader, who is her dad. They start talking, going out, and eventually start dating?

unexpected laps 🏁

Lando Norris x single-dad!reader

summary: lando goes to a kids’ karting event for a quick pr appearance and unexpectedly meets a single dad who changes everything.

warnings: PURE fluff, meet-cute, use of y/n

A/N: thanks for request anon!!! i never write fics where it’s y/n but for this one i felt it was necessary cuz i wanted to make sure that during the fic u could tell that ‘reader’ was a guy so 🤷‍♀️ also i don’t typically write in third person, lemme know if it’s not too cringe. but other than that i loved this req, it was too cute. sorry i’m posting it so late, i rewrote it like 50 fucking times. ENJOY, MY LOVES ❤️

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

the last thing lando expected when he got roped into making a surprise appearance at a local kids’ karting event was to meet someone who made him want to stick around for more than just the photo ops.

it had started out like any other pr thing. a few hours in his mclaren gear, smiling for pictures, signing miniature helmets, crouching beside kids with wide eyes and dreams bigger than their bodies. lando didn’t mind it, not really. he loved seeing that spark—the one he remembered having when he was their age. but by the time the final race came around, he was already checking his watch.

and then she came flying across the finish line.

this tiny blur of pink and orange, with wild curls sticking out from her helmet and arms raised in victory like she’d just won monaco. she practically leapt out of the kart before it had even come to a full stop, bouncing on her toes as she pulled her helmet off and ran to her dad.

and that was when lando saw him.

he was kneeling beside her, beaming like she’d just won the championship. she flung herself into his arms and he caught her like it was the easiest thing in the world, spinning her once before setting her down and ruffling her hair.

“you were so fast!” he laughed. “i think you might’ve scared the rest of the grid.”

she grinned, proud and breathless. “i was pretending i was you!”

he chuckled. “i wish i was that cool.”

and then, like some cosmic joke, the announcer’s voice echoed across the track: “and the winner gets a signed photo and a picture with lando norris!”

his daughter screamed.

lando blinked. and before he could really process it, she was dragging her dad by the hand toward him, practically vibrating with excitement.

“hi!” she beamed up at him, cheeks still flushed from racing. “i’m mia! you’re lando! i won!”

“hi mia,” he smiled, crouching to her level. “you were flying out there! nice moves on turn four.”

she gasped. “you saw that?!”

“of course i did. couldn’t miss it.”

and that’s when lando met his eyes. he looked a little apologetic, a little amused, and—a little shy.

“sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “she’s a big fan. we both are, actually.”

lando stood, brushing his palms on his jeans. “don’t apologize. she’s got talent. you’re her coach?”

he laughed. “more like her chauffeur and snack provider. she tells me what to do, really.”

he had a nice voice. warm, steady, playful.

“i’m lando,” he said, even though that was obvious.

“yeah, i got that part,” he teased, then offered his hand. “i’m y/n.”

when lando shook his hand, he noticed the way his fingers were calloused but gentle, like he worked with his hands but still knew how to hold something carefully. it did something weird to his chest.

he stuck around longer than he was supposed to. took a picture with mia, signed her helmet, even let her sit in the demo kart he’d driven in earlier. but every time he looked up, he found y/n watching him. not in a creepy way. in a curious, thoughtful way, like he was trying to figure lando out.

lando liked it more than he should’ve.

at some point, while mia was showing another kid her medal, lando found himself standing beside y/n again, both of them watching her from the edge of the track.

“she’s got a good teacher,” lando said.

y/n raised an eyebrow. “i told you, i just buy the juice boxes.”

lando smiled. “still. she’s lucky.”

he glanced at him. “and what about you? lucky day?”

lando looked at him. “wasn’t expecting to meet someone interesting at a karting track today, so yeah. lucky.”

y/n laughed. “mm… smooth.”

“you like it?”

“maybe.”

lando hesitated for half a second before blurting, “can i get your number?”

y/n blinked, then smiled. “you’re asking for mine before i can ask for yours?”

“beat you to the finish line,” lando grinned.

he gave him his number.

the first few texts were casual. jokes about mia being faster than him, memes about go-karts and juice boxes, the occasional photo of her holding up her latest karting trophy with a look that could kill. lando sent a selfie once, hair a mess and tongue sticking out, with the caption: think i can beat her now?

y/n replied: not a chance.

and then lando asked him out.

nothing crazy. just coffee after one of mia’s saturday races. she was busy running laps around the parking lot with her new karting friends while they sat on the curb with two paper cups between them, knees bumping sometimes, smiles lingering a little longer than they used to.

“you sure about this?” y/n asked quietly, eyes on his daughter across the lot.

lando looked at him. “about what?”

“me. the dad. the kid. the juice boxes.”

he nudged y/n’s arm. “i’m in it for the juice boxes, honestly.”

y/n gave him a look.

“i’m sure,” lando said. “about all of it.”

dating lando was easy in ways y/n didn’t expect. sure, there were complications—paparazzi, travel, the occasional insecurity about being the guy he chose in a world that expected him to date models. but there was also his laugh in y/n’s kitchen, his fingers brushing his when he helped with dishes, the way he always carried an extra hoodie for mia in his bag “just in case.”

she adored him. and lando adored her back.

he never overstepped. never tried to be more than y/n was comfortable with. he just showed up—cheering from the sidelines at her races, offering advice when she asked, helping her untangle her hair when it got caught in her helmet strap.

and when the three of them curled up on the couch at the end of the day, mia fast asleep on y/n’s chest, lando would wrap an arm around him and whisper, “this… this feels right.”

and somehow, it always did.

y/n didn’t expect to fall for him so fast. but maybe it was how lando looked at him like he was the only thing that mattered, even when he had the whole world watching. maybe it was how he made his daughter laugh louder than he’d ever heard. or maybe it was just him—the way he stayed, showed up, chose them.

again and again.

and when he kissed y/n in the quiet of his kitchen one night, soft and slow, like he’d been waiting for the right moment, he knew this wasn’t just a lucky day.

this was the start of something real.

THE END :>